Page 45 of Cream & Sugar

I’d be more offended, only it feels more like a plea than a dig at my songwriting talents. I shrug.

“I dunno. This town’s a little short on inspiration, I guess.” I take a small step towards him, folding my arms across my chest. “What’s this really about?”

Rory shifts his weight from left to right, not meeting my eye. “Since Mum, I can’t play anymore. And you, well, it’s like you said: you do look just like her, Fred. You got her face and her voice, and all those old songs… It makes it hard. To watch you."

Stunned, I blink at him as pieces of the jigsaw puzzle slide into place.

Mum loved to sing. She never performed or anything like that, but she’d sing along to the radio as she made our toast each morning. Even if she didn’t know the words, she’d do little harmonies and backing vocals, effortless and never a smidge out of tune. She taught me my first chords on a toy guitar she bought Rory at a car boot sale. Rory, by that point, had already moved on to the drums. If I didn’t know better, I’d struggle to believe he’s the same boy who ran around whacking every hollow object he could find to test its percussiveness. I’ve only just recovered from the headaches.

By the time we were teenagers, we had all the makings of a family band, doing covers of Fleetwood Mac songs with cheap crappy instruments in our living room. Those are probably the best memories I have of Mum. Of all three of us.

“Don’t you miss it?” I ask him, after a beat or two. “Playing, I mean.”

Rory doesn’t nod or shake, just stares through me like I’m made of glass.

“I miss her more.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and taps a rhythm on his belt with his thumb. “Isn’t it painful for you?”

I shake my head. “Playing makes me feel closer to her, I guess.”

Rory sniffs and for a horrible moment, I think he’s about to cry. My brother hasn’t shed a tear for as long as I can remember. I don’t know what I'll do if he starts bawling in the street. Hug him? Back away slowly? Throw myself headfirst into oncoming traffic? All equally valid options.

“Rory, are you okay?” I ask.

His eyes snap up and he glares at me like I’ve just insulted the very essence of his character. “Of course I’m bloody okay! Don’t be stupid.”

Phew.

“Right. Well, why didn’t you say something before?” I ask. All the times I played guitar around the house, he never once told me to stop. Why wouldn’t he if it pained him to hear it?

Rory shrugs. “I guess I could see how much playing meant to you. I wasn’t going to stop you. I just couldn’t listen.”

I blink rapidly. “Now you’re gonna makemecry.”

Rory looks mortified. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

I leap forward, a man possessed, and hug my brother, wrapping my arms around his meaty back. He doesn’t return the embrace, but he doesn’t immediately shove me away either. After a few seconds, Rory clears his throat, sharply, and pats me once on theshoulder, signalling this has gone as far as he’s willing to take it. I release him and step back, unable to hide my smile.

Rory pulls out his keys and unlocks the car.

“Let’s go home. We’ve got work tomorrow.”

16

Shaun

Iparkupinfront of the café and switch off the engine.

Alright, here we go. Just a normal shift on a normal day. Got to keep telling myself that, because the alternative is telling Freddie I came three times thinking about him last night, something I absolutely cannot do, even if it’s one hundred percent the truth.

Thrice might seem excessive, but the first time happened so embarrassingly fast I had to double-check it wasn’t a fluke. And the third time was… well, simply because I wanted to.

It felt amazing.

Did it help? In a way, yes, but in a lot of other ways, no. No, it did not.

The one upside is now I know, unequivocally, that I’m attracted to him, sexually speaking. The downside is, well, everything else that comes with that. I don’t know what to do. For now, pretending nothing’s different around Freddie is my only option.

Should be easy.